Marteeka's Dreams

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Where the (Blue) Grass Grows

Elise von Switzer has vanquished her own demon by surviving breast cancer. Now, she's determined to help others make it through their own struggles by championing the fight to legalize medical marijuana in the state of Kentucky. Taking control of her own destiny, she ventures into the great beyond to find the answers she craves.

One man deep in the hills of Kentucky holds the promise of help. Trouble is, Dane Lasseter's as elusive as the cure for cancer itself. Even those who know him stay away. Rumor is, he likes it that way. People are always out to take what he has. When the lovely Elise encroaches on his territory, however, Dane has no problem making an exception to his own rule.

Dane knows Elise is hiding something, but discovering her secret only makes him more determined to prove to her what makes a woman roar. But some scars run deep. Will Dane's healing hands be enough to calm the skittish Elise, or will she jet back the city, leaving her mountain man behind? When lust, love and hope get thrust together, all bets are off!

***This contemporary IR breast cancer survivor romance is full of emotion.***


There was nothing quite like the deserted mountains in rural Kentucky. Dane Lasseter had fucking missed them like he’d miss his fucking nuts if they’d been gone for three fucking months. Though it was the height of summer, Dane had been in Miami helping his brother and new sister-in-law get settled in their second home. Why they wanted to live there and why Dane chose to leave his mountain to help them, he had no idea. He as just glad they were all back for the moment. Living in a place that big and covered in people made him crazy. It took away his edge. Sure, he could hunt gators, but where was the sport in that? Damned things were practically crawling all over the swamps. But Miami…

Fucking cities.

He hated them. Could barely tolerate going to Lexington or Louisville for the occasional meeting and continuing education class. If it weren’t for the work he and Blake did for cancer research in both cities, he’d never leave his mountain or the bluegrass of Kentucky. Alas, cancer research centers like Markey, James Graham Brown, and Norton couldn’t serve patients by being located in the woods. Which meant, every now and then, Dane and Blake had to come off their mountain and face civilization. As far as Blake was concerned, civilization was highly overrated.

He’d only been home a few days. Was trying to decompress when he decided the best way to do that was to hunt. He needed fresh meat anyway. City food was so full of preservatives he was sure he’d be backed up for a month. He needed country grub. Fortunately, their cousins had maintained both his and Blake’s multiple gardens while they were away. Potatoes, onions, beans, cabbage, and radishes were all in abundance. Corn too, though it would be a few more weeks until it was ready. Now, he had new taters, beans, and peas waiting on a bit of meat to go with them at home. After a week of city food, his mouth watered just thinking about his own home grown goodness. That distraction was probably why it had taken until nearly sunset to get a deer in his sights.

Still as he could be, Dane brought tension to his bow, his arrow ready to fly. The big buck and his baby mama had been picking at his garden for the past several nights. While Dane couldn’t bring himself to kill the doe or the fawn, this fellow was fair game as far as he was concerned. Being in the city mean he smelled like the city. Which meant he was now covered in wonderful fragrance of pine and deer urine to mask his own scent.

“Shouldn’t have gone into another male’s territory, you bastard,” he muttered to himself as he got ready to take the shot.

The buck stood there, sensing the danger but unable to pinpoint where it was. If he’d turn just a little to the right, Dane could get the perfect kill shot. Just a little bit more… a little bit more…

A twang sounded to Dane’s left. A bowstring? A split second later, a thunk sounded and the deer bolted. As the creature fled, Dane spied an arrow shaft in the exact spot Dane himself was aiming for. Someone had gacked his shot? What the fuck?

Relaxing tension on the bow, Dane swung his aim to his right, wanting to see who trespassed on his land. His bow scope ensured he could see whoever was poaching on his property. The guy was good. He was still, blended nearly seamlessly with the greenery. It was only when he moved to adjust his field glasses that Dane saw him at all.

The guy stayed perfectly still, tracking the deer visually before taking off deeper into the woods. The moonlight gave Dane a glimmer of dark skin shimmering with sweat. The glimpse was fleeting enough he couldn’t tell if the person was black or just darkly tanned, but the absence of feminine…attributes lead him to believe it was a young man. He was slight of build and short, but his arms were lean and strong. The rest of him was covered in camo gear, but he moved with a swift grace as he tracked the deer through the brush. Dane followed at a distance, not wanting to spook the child but needing to warn him off his property. But if the kid was only looking for something to eat…

But that made no sense. No one lived in these mountains. Dane and Blake owned everything from the outskirts of the local town to the next. Everything was nearly virgin wood except where they’d made their homesteads. So why was this kid hunting out of season in Dane’s woods?

As Dane followed the deer’s trail, he had to admit the kid was good. Really good. If it hadn’t been for the deer’s headlong dash and bloody trail, he doubted he’d have been able to follow the kid at all.

It took thirty minutes before Dane caught up to the pair. Despite the mortal wound, a deer could run for several minutes before the adrenaline left and blood loss took over. Now, he saw the kid gutting the fucking deer, a hole already dug to bury the internal organs.

Smart kid!

“You’ve either got a set of balls bigger than I do or you’re just not very smart, kid. No one hunts on my land.” Dane knew his gravelly voice could be menacing and used it to his full advantage. In the dusky dark, the full moon just beginning to lighten the sky, the bloody scene was creepy enough. He’d been known to terrify grown, battle-hardened men. How would a kid stand up to him?

“Not balls,” came a decidedly female voice. “Ovaries. And I’m more intelligent than you.” The voice came from the “kid,” who never looked up from her work. “I killed my deer and still managed not to smell like I pissed a Christmas tree.”

Saturday, June 4, 2016

Mary Jane's Healing Hands -- EXCERPT!

Back inside, she noted her surroundings this time. How spotlessly clean the place was. If there was anything out of place, she couldn’t figure what it would be. Even the woodpile next to the fireplace was freakishly neat. And the food did smell really good. As Blake hung his coat on the rack next to the door, Ruth couldn’t help but watch him move. He had the grace of a jungle cat, all fluidity and controlled power. She shivered at the thought. Carnivorous grace. A predator, pure and simple.

He wore a red flannel shirt over a white tee, both tucked into jeans that hugged his ass and powerful legs perfectly. Muck boots came just below his knees. He toed off the boots onto a rug beside the door. Never had she seen anyone look so fucking good in such plain clothes.

With a little smirk at her, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, he opened a closet and retrieved bedding and pillows. Just as the lights flickered once, then went out. Blake didn’t hesitate, but continued as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Firelight flickered over him making his dark hair seem to glimmer in the dim light.

Blake neatly made the couch with sheets and quilts like he might a bed, then made a pallet on the floor. “Intended for you to sleep in my bed, but with the power out, it would be better to sleep in here by the fire. I can’t run the generator all night so it will probably get chilly, and I don’t have the fireplace in my room ready for a fire. You take the couch.” He stretched out on the floor, flashing her that heart-stopping grin as he did. “Relax,” he said. “It’ll be fun. Like camping out.”

“This is your idea of fun?” Ruth couldn’t believe this was happening. She was stuck in the mountains of Kentucky with a man she didn’t know all that well in the middle of a snow storm. And she wasn’t broken up about it all. Sure, he routinely fucked up people who got in his business, but he helped people too. Surely that meant he was one of the good guys.

“Na. This is life. Fun would be doing this outside. We’d have to snuggle to keep warm.”

Ruth couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up inside her. “You’re nuts,” she managed. There was a companionable silence for a while. The wind picked up outside, howling through the trees and over the house, but she felt no cold. He’d obviously taken care to insulate his home against the chill and wind.

“Come on,” he said, snagging her arm and steering her toward the kitchen table off in the corner of the living room. “Food is calling.” The living room and kitchen area were combined. While the room was small, he’d used the space well, keeping all but the couch in front of the fire against the walls to maximize the living area. They ate in silence for long moments. Which was a good thing. Though the meal was simple, Ruth was certain she’d never tasted anything so wonderful outside her gram’s cooking.

Finally, Ruth asked the question she’d been burning to ask since she’d discovered the truth about him. “Why do you do it?”

“Hold beautiful women against their will in my home in the mountains? Because I’m a lusty bastard and hope to persuade them to…get cozy with me when the fire burns low.”

She sighed. “Do you take nothing seriously?”

“I always take survival very seriously. Snuggling for body heat is a matter of survival.”

He took her dishes. When she offered to help, he gave her a sexy little smirk and told her to get ready for bed. Which just conjured up all kinds of naughty images.

Once she was settled and he situated himself on the floor between her and the fire, she continued their conversation. “You risk going to jail for drug trafficking and for what? You give away your product. Do you not make anything from it?”

“Ah. That.” He sighed as if disappointed, but continued. “Why would anyone do what I do?”

She thought a moment before answering. “I suppose you had someone in need of…medicine.”

“Very good,” he praised.

Which only grated on Ruth’s nerves so she added, “Or you’re just not very smart.”

He chucked. “I like your sass. You’re right. My mother had breast cancer. She would have died a natural death had it not been for my father, my brother, and me. She was the glue that held us together and she knew it. So she went through all the chemo and radiation the doctors suggested. Never once did she complain. But it was hell for her.

“Finally, my father had had enough. He loved my mother more than anything on this earth. My brother and I included. At her last doctor’s visit, he said he was bringing her home for good. No more treatments. My mother looked at him as if he’d handed her the Holy Grail before she broke down into tears. My brother and I wanted to protest. We wanted her around as long as possible. But we knew what she went through. The sickness every day. Not being able to eat. Losing what little she managed to choke down. And the pain. Always the pain.

“One night, Dad had just helped her from the bathroom where she’d been violently ill for half an hour. She could barely stand. Dad had to carry her back to bed. I did the only thing I could think of. I knew Mom wouldn’t like it. She was a church-going woman. But I rolled a joint and went to their bedroom. She was lying there, nearly lifeless from fatigue and lack of food to sustain her. Mom just looked at me, so obviously wanting her suffering to end but unwilling to leave all of us.

“So I lit the end, sucking in a lungful of smoke. I eased down to her and slowly blew it under her nose so she could breathe it in with her mouth or her nose. At first, she gasped in surprise, trying to turn away. But I kept at it. After a couple of hits, she started to feel better.”

Blake was quiet for several seconds. Ruth thought he was done, but, seeming to gather himself, he continued.

“None of us ever spoke about it. Beau, my brother, and I just made sure she had several joints ready each day if she needed them. The nausea lessened. The pain lessened. She still took the morphine the hospice nurse brought, but not as much. Her appetite increased and she got a little stronger. Did it cure her? Not in the least. She died a couple of months later. But her time was spent with us. Not in a drugged-out stupor where she was in constant pain. She still hurt, but it was more manageable.

“In the years since, Beau and I have dedicated our lives to finding the perfect mix of THC and CBD in our hybrid strains.”

“I don’t understand,” she interrupted. “Are you talking about what makes your weed special from everyone else’s?”

“Exactly. THC is what gives you the high and helps the pain. CBD is what helps the nausea, muscle spasms, and increases appetite. Most doctors favor a product higher in CBD content, while patients need both. It’s all very politically correct.”

“You sound like you know quite a bit about this.”

“Well, I’m not just a hick pot grower, you know.” She could see him smile even in the dim firelight. “I’ve actually got a degree in botany and biochemistry. My brother does as well. It’s taken us years—and we’re still working—but we’ve crossbreed the fuck out of several different breeds of pot.”

Sunday, February 28, 2016


Irish Sugar

The Bad Boys of Boston

Ice fills my soul. Nothing matters to me but my brothers. I'd kill for them. Every death chips away at the hint of humanity still clinging to me. And when the day comes to pay for my misdeeds....I don't think about that... Until then I will bask in my transgressions allowing the passion of my chaos to keep me warm. I'm the thing you fear when darkness surrounds you. If you're in my crosshairs, you're as good as dead. My name is Fionn O'Shea. Death is all that matters...


She alone fills the gaps in my soul, returns my humanity. By protecting her, perhaps some part of me will be redeemable when I must answer for my sins. She brings order to my chaos, keeps me warm when the ice threatens to overtake me. If you threaten her, you'll pray for the monsters in the dark to take you. But they won't. I'll bring your pain. I'll bring your suffering. I'll live for nothing else...


“Oh, Fionn! That’s so fucking good!”

Fucking two women at once was definitely not overrated. Anyone who said otherwise was either a goddamned liar, or hadn’t done it and was trying to convince himself he wasn’t missing anything. The blonde and redhead Fionn was currently enjoying certainly lived up to his expectations. Thankfully, the pair was available pretty much whenever he wanted them to be.

“It’s ‘Finn,’ sweet. Not ‘Fee-on.’”

If he fucked them enough, one of the pair might remember how to say his name. Especially if he made them scream it enough.

As he tongued the pussy of the redhead while the other one sucked his cock with much enthusiasm, Fionn embraced the depravity of the act. He relished this. The rush of sex. It was the one thing that engaged his senses and made him feel…alive. The pleasure was good, the sensations of smooth skin and silky hair sliding over his body stimulating. Yeah. To say Fionn O’Shea loved sex was an understatement.

Rolling over, he pushed the blonde away from his cock as he reached for a condom. Sheathing himself, he mounted the redhead, who squealed in her excitement.

“I’m ready for you, Finn,” the redhead crooned, reaching for him. At least she’d pronounced his name right. More or less. Though, it lacked the delicacy of the original Irish. “Come give me the fuck of my life.” She gave him a saucy grin as she spread her legs wider, welcoming him atop her.

“My pleasure, sweet,” he murmured in the raspy voice he knew women loved. “Wiggle that little pussy on me.” As expected, she giggled and squirmed to fill herself with him.

Fionn sat back on his knees, pulling the redhead’s legs over his own as he thrust lazily, letting her do most of the work. While she danced on his cock, the blonde draped herself around his back, turning his head to kiss him hungrily.

Gripping the redhead’s legs, Fionn began a driving rhythm designed to take her just to the edge, letting her linger. It was a move he’d practiced many times, perfecting it over the years. He could do it with his eyes closed. Or, say, with his tongue tangled with that of another woman.

“Oh, yes!” the redhead screamed, twisting her hips, trying to grind on him to put more friction on her clit. Of course, Fionn was having none of it. She wasn’t coming until he said she was. And that wouldn’t be until he was good and ready.

Urging the blonde to her feet, Fionn ran the fingers of one hand along her slit, wetting them before he plunged two inside her. Her head fell back on a gasp, her nails gripping his shoulder as she rode the digits.

Yeah. This was the life.

His phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he saw it was his brother, Shannon. This could only mean work. Without missing a beat, Fionn answered the call.


“I need your assistance on a couple of jobs.”

Shannon, his full-blooded brother, was the enforcer of their…family business. He also ran some of the more questionable areas. The only time Shannon ever called Fionn was when he’d had enough. Which meant someone was going to die.

“More than one? So, it’s a good day to die. What’s the job?” Shannon knew there was no way Fionn would ever turn down a request for help, no matter what it was. As the second youngest of their brotherhood of four, Fionn was just as loyal and steadfast to his brothers as they were to him. Each possessed a particular skill set. Fionn’s just happen to be the ability to rain terror on their enemies and never get caught. Mainly because he was fast and careful. Ever efficient.

“First one is Magda. I need her gone.”

Fionn raised an eyebrow, but didn’t stop his fucking. “Can’t say I blame you. Bitch has had it coming for years. All I can say is, it’s about damned time.”

“Next one is a bit tricky. Bart Holten. He’s making a play for my girls. More at Basic Bitch and the Nunnery than anywhere else. Trying to offer them more money, but when they refuse—and they all refuse—he’s threatening them or their families. I don’t have to tell you the information I get from them is too valuable to lose. Besides, he’d likely have them all into drugs in order to control them and the flow of information. And I have a feeling this all the old man’s doing. He’s testing me. And he wants that information channel for himself.”

“You need him dead?”

“No. Not yet. But I want to send him a message. If that fails…”

“He have family who can be used for leverage?”

“Only one. Her name is LeeAnn Bates. He married the girl’s mother but didn’t give his new wife’s child his name. The fucker didn’t have enough sense to separate himself from her at the earliest opportunity. She lives with him in Beacon Hill.”

Fionn snorted even as he continued to pleasure the two women in his bed. “I wonder why she refused to leave. Keeping Daddy’s money close, no doubt.”

“Probably. In any event, she was seen with one of my girls who frequents the Irish, trolling for clients and information. Don’t know exactly what she’s doing, but quite likely she’s reporting to her father.”

“So, I take it I’m to snag her? Hold her until we decide how to deal with…our little problem?” Fionn might talk business in front of his women, but he didn’t invite trouble.

“Nab her. I’ll let her father we’ve got her. If he’s not a complete bastard, he’ll take the hint and back the fuck off. I’ll get my girl to bring her to the bar. Once she’s at the Irish, you can take if from there.”

“And if he doesn’t back down?”

Shannon’s voice went cold. Deadly. Much like Fionn’s own. Too much like their old man’s. “Then take care of him.”

Fionn ended the call and absently tilted his hips as he thrust into the redhead. He’d never left a woman unsatisfied and, even though he wouldn’t be getting off himself, he wouldn’t ruin his reputation this time.

“Oh, God! I’m coming!” When the redhead started bucking over his cock, whipping her hips at him in a frenzy, Fionn tickled the blonde’s clit until she too spasmed around him. Both women screamed as they writhed on him, sweat shimmering over their pale flesh in the lamplight.

But Fionn’s mind was already on the job at hand. He’d finish up here then begin his search for the woman. If all went well, he’d have her chained to a bed before nightfall. If things went even better, she’d be a beauty he’d convince to give him information as he bedded her. He’d have what he needed. They’d both have a pleasurable romp.

Sunday, January 17, 2016

A Hero to Master Me

It's finally here. The last Carver Brother book. Mike is a bad boy... That's all ima sayin'.

Zaraiah Nelson is in a bad place. Has been since she spent time in hell. No one knows her secret, but it eats at her every day. Burns her soul at night. Even those closest to her don’t understand the needs that drive her, the need for action. The need to punish herself for her fatal failure. No one, that is, until Mike Carver

Mike recognizes Zaraiah the moment he meets her but can’t place where. He knows she has issues, that something isn’t quite what it seems with the dark-skinned beauty, but she refuses to tell him willingly. What she doesn’t understand is that he’s Force Recon. Gathering information is what he does. No mission has ever been this important, and Mike has only ever failed one mission. That one time in his life will prove to be the key to Zaraiah. If only he can put all the pieces together…


“Fuck that,” Mike muttered as he shoved the man out of the way. Desperation clawed at him. He had to get to her, get her to safety. Again, one of the bouncers tried to detain him. Again, he shoved the guy out of the way, but the first guy now grabbed his arm. Jerking away, Mike powered his way through the crowd to Zaraiah.

“I said stop!” The first bouncer now had Mike by the arm, jerking him backward. The second one snagged his other arm, both pulling him away from Zaraiah. With a snarl, Mike let go all pretense at playing nice.

A quick jab to the ribs to one man, a punch to the face for the other, and Mike ran headlong to Zaraiah. People were standing around her now. Some laughing. Some looking concerned. Others muttered, “crack whore,” as they turned away. Only Mike knew the truth. The continuing “pops” put her in the grip of a panic unlike any of those bastards had ever known.

“Move!” he shouted over the din, reaching Zaraiah just she made eye contact with him.

“Help…me…” Then her eyes rolled back and she passed out.

It was all Mike could do not to bellow in rage. Instead, he scooped her up and headed out of the club. When one of the bouncers he’d confronted moments before stood in his way, whatever he saw in Mike’s face had him raising his hands and backing away. Pussy-ass motherfuckers should be protecting Zaraiah instead of letting Mike waltz right out of there with her, but no one lifted a finger to help. Funny how that worked. He knew he couldn’t have it both ways, but damn if it didn’t focus all his anger and fear in a different direction than the horrible worry over Zaraiah. Without that shift in focus, he’d lose his goddamned mind.

Saturday, January 2, 2016

UNEDITED EXCERPT...A Hero to Master Me


A Hero to Master Me
by Marteeka Karland

There was pain in her eyes. And resignation. Mike recognized it the second she truly met his gaze, knowing him for the predator he was. Even his family had no idea what he'd really done while in the Marines. They knew it hadn't been pleasant -- one reason he never talked about it -- but most of what he'd done had been so classified Mike was surprised he hadn't been targeted for some kind of kill list. Score one for the good 'ole US of A. Black Ops only touched the surface of what he'd done, the things he'd seen. Only once had he broken protocol and he'd been thankful he hadn't lost so much of himself to the Corp that he'd followed the strict letter of his orders. He knew pain. He knew sorrow. And this woman held both in spades. Now, as then, he felt like a critical piece of his life was about to click into place. That failed mission had signaled his retirement -- his own decision. What would this lap dance do for him?
"Are you going to kick me out of my apartment," she asked. Over the din of the music and drunken laughter, it was hard to hear her, but Mike was focused on her so completely, she could have whispered the question and he'd have heard her.
"I'm taking a dance," was his matter-of-fact response.
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't."
Did she shiver? Her skin glimmered under the lights but Mike couldn't tell if it were from the lotion she used to give her skin a slight shimmer or from sweat. A sure sign of nerves.
The section she took him to created the illusion of privacy. There were dividers, but cameras still canvassed the place. No doors or solid walls. Looking around him, Mike saw silhouettes of dancers and their patrons all around him. He hated that they'd potentially have an audience but he was just damned selfish enough to take this from her.
"You can sit here," she said, gesturing to a small couch. Perfume seemed to waft from the upholstery hanging in a haze through the whole area. What he wouldn't give to get a good, unimpeded whiff of her scent. No matter. That would come later. Right now, he had work to do. Without a word, he sat. "You need to sit on your hands." Like hell.
"I know the rules," he growled. "Hands off the ladies. I won't touch you." With a grin he added, "tonight," and stretched his arms over the back of the couch.
Zaraiah swallowed, her eyes going wide. Oh yeah. she knew. Mike was ready to begin this, though he had no idea where he was going. He knew he was moving in her direction. Where they went together would ultimately be up to her, but he had the feeling she needed this as much as he did. His sexual tastes had always been more kink that vanilla, but he'd repress himself if necessary. Anything to have her. Mike was a Dominant in his heart of hearts. One reason the military had agreed with him. But in bed, he craved dominating a woman just to see her blossom under his touch. Could he give that up for her?
When he nodded for her to begin. Zarriah gave a defeated sigh, her shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted. Then she began to dance.
The sensual sway of her hips mesmerized Mike as she moved around him. Her movements should have looked practiced. Instead, she was naturally sensual, as if her dance had always been for him alone. In that moment, Mike felt like he was the only man in her world. Thank God he'd sent the two pups away before they'd gotten a look at her like this. Mike was sure he'd have lost his ever loving shit if they had. As it was, he knew this was her last night in this place. She was his. Pure and simple. Now, he just had to convince her of it.
With a sigh, she gave herself up to the music, dipping in front of him, rubbing and stroking his thighs. Naturally, Mike's mind went straight to one theme and he nearly groaned out loud. Now wasn't the time. He had to have complete control of himself. Figuring her out would take some doing, but he was confident he could unravel this mystery. Melanie said she'd seemed restless. Like she needed something. Looking at her now, he could see the fine muscle underneath all that silky looking skin. She was obviously athletic. More than just dancing. There was evidence of hard work in her limbs and torso. Did she work out? If so, it had to involve more than weight training. She was too nimble and graceful. As she twirled around, presenting him with the perfectly rounded globes of her ass, he saw it. His breath caught.
Just above the dimple at the small of her back, was a tiny tattoo. The symbol? A sword standing on end with a snake wrapped around it. Zaraiah was a fucking combat medic. He'd bet his life on it. A few more things clicked into place. The anxiousness. Restlessness. If she hadn't had time to adjust to civi life, she was likely feeling the need for action. The superb condition of her body said she was either newly discharged or continued her daily workouts to ease the stress. But why had she taken up stripping instead of using her skills in the civilian world?
Right. With an ass like hers, why wouldn't she. She had to make more doing this  than she could as an EMT. But, if she did this regularly, why not get a more up scale apartment? Perhaps her boyfriend had frowned on her working here more than a night or two a month? Mike knew he sure would. Hell, he wouldn't want her to at all! Not because he looked down at her or her chosen profession, but he was a territorial bastard. He wanted no eyes on his woman but him. And, God help him, Zaraiah Nelson was his woman.
When Zaraiah bent to scratch her nails up his thighs, then up his chest, raising herself up to straddle him, Mike nearly forgot why it was so important to stay in control. She had the power here, but his dominant nature demanded he prove that he was the one calling the shots.
"You look relaxed," she commented, tilting her head as if she found him intriguing. "Most men are generally struggling to keep their hands to themselves."
"Oh, make no mistake, I want my hands on you right now."
"You don't look like you do." Did she look...disappointed? Hurt?
"I can't touch you, so why try to do what would get me tossed out on my ear. I'm not leaving your side tonight. As much as this situation...tempts me, get used to me. I'm not going anywhere."
Her breath hitched before she got control again. "You know you can't monopolize my time. I have work to do."
"That you do. And you'll do it with me. I'll pay for your time and you'll do as I command."
She grinned at him then, a breathtaking display of dimpled cheeks that nearly took his breath. "I doubt the manager would approve."
"You let me worry about that."
For the first time, she let her facade falter, her gaze looking stricken for the briefest moment. "Mr. Carver, I don't want you to pay for my time."
"Mike," he said.
"That's not appropriate." With a shaky breath, she gingerly rested her hands on his shoulders. "Are you going to use this against me?"
"Not in the way you're obviously thinking." Mike wanted her anxious. Nervous. He had plans for the little beauty on his lap but they didn't include her prostituting herself. For him or anyone else.
"If not that, then what?"
"Melanie said your boyfriend was gone. Is that true?" She bit her bottom lip before starting to slide off his lap. "No!" His command was sharp, an order to be obeyed even though his hands stayed resting on the back of the couch, not clutching her hips and urging her forward. The Army inside her responded. As did the woman. Before his eyes, her nipples hardened to tight peaks around her piercings, their color darkening subtly. Mike doubted she was even aware of the little whimper that escaped her. "You stay where you are until I tell you to move. Understood."
She gave a shaky nod, sliding her body back on his lap fully. The move was purely sensual, a glide up his rigid cock with her silken clad sex. Had the situation been different, Mike's eyes would have rolled back in his head and he'd have gripped her hips digging his fingers in to keep her close. As it was, he let her move, his gaze remaining fixed on her lovely, honey colored eyes.
"Tell me why he left."
Zaraiah paused in her movements, a confused look on her face. "You want to know this now?"
"Yes. And don't stop your dance."
A shudder seemed to flutter through, as if the idea of having a serious conversation with her straddling his lap in only a thong wasn't so much surreal as titillating.
"I--" she swallowed. "You're crazy."
"Now, Zaraiah." He kept his voice firm, knowing what he had to do to get the information from her, what she'd respond to the easiest.
She cleared her throat, pausing her movements only briefly before taking a deep breath and continuing. "I was Army," she began. "Field medic. I saw a lot of action. It...affected me. John couldn't deal with it and finally left."
"I gathered as much," Mike said. "I saw the tattoo on your back. There's more you're not telling me."
"Maybe," she said, lifting her chin, her first real show of defiance with him. "But that's all I'm telling you."
"Then ride me."

She did.